Chase The Stars
by TheAntiqueRadio
Summary: Belarus had never really understood how much America truly meant to her until she lost him. America/Belarus one-shot.


A/N: Written as a sort of 'what if' situation. This is not meant to be historically accurate or any of that sort.

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><p><em>What would you do, if today was your last day?<em>

No question had even been harder for Alfred to ponder before. What _would_ he do if today was his last day? So many times his mind had whirled around such a query, and so many times his answers had fallen short of his own expectations. Until. . .finally. One day. On the very day he knew his life would be meeting a temporary end - he knew. He'd bring happiness to the one individual in his life who had swayed his heart to his feet.

Belarus. The milky-skinned, sharp-toned Slavic woman of Europe. She was violent, but hauntingly beautiful. Silent but alluring. Her eyes like deep azure ice had captured and pinned him within the cage of her gaze. He often found himself descending into chilly waters whenever she looked his way. But it was fascinating. Magnetizing. Beguiling. And his complex had sparked from the moment he laid eyes on her.

But he had quickly discovered he was toying with a very, very scorching fire and was no short of getting burned seriously more than once. If it wasn't her older brother Russia, it was she herself. She'd hit him, berate him verbally, had even sunk a dagger or two into him on various occasions. Yet the smile engraved upon his lips never faltered for a moment. He endured because he was honest with himself and held sanguine to the idea that he could cage her for himself as she had unintentionally caged him.

So when he awoke that morning with the ominous feeling of. . .distance, he knew immediately that it was his last chance to prove his affection before death snatched up his soul for a while. As an Incarnation, it was impossible for him to suffer the same fate as one of his people, but he was liable to succumb to something similar to their 'deaths'. What was known as temporary suspension; or a death-like state. Sure, he could fall from a building, crack his head open and die. But after a while he'd wake up and walk away like it was nothing (minus the terrible headaches he'd suffer for the next week or so). And though he was aware he would not be gone forever, something miniscule inside him whispered this was his only chance.

He paid heed to that laconic whisper and went out and bought her a bouquet of flowers. Red and white roses. He bought an extra dozen of white and, with the help of some blue paints, painted that additional dozen blue so he now held an armful of red, white, and blue flowers. The colors of his own flag. He then headed on home to greet her with this lovely surprise. Reticent, he noiselessly crept through the front door and down the hall, pausing before the doorway to his living room and poking his head curiously around the corner. Just like he anticipated, she was nestled upon his couch, soaking in a few cartoons. The girl seemed to have taken to the color, animated pictures and adored watching them. She was so delightful; he felt his heart stutter in his chest.

Clearing his throat a bit too loudly, he stepped upon the threshold and murmured her name in a tone just loud enough for her to catch. "Belarus, I have something for you." He expected her to regard him with curiosity, but on the contrary she turned her head just enough to catch sight of him, wrinkle her nose in disgust and turn right back to the T.V. That was alright - he was well accustomed to the derisive treatment. It only spurred him to move until he was hanging over the edge of the couch, dangling the bouquet of flowers before her face. "It's not much, but I was hoping you'd perhaps watch the stars with me to-"

He was unable to finish his sentence; her rejection of his unfinished proposal was a vicious swat at the flowers, scattering their heads and petals all over the couch and floor. "Go away Jones. I don't _want_ anything to do with you. I'm only here because of Lukashenko." Her retort was short, cuspate, and left little room for argument.

Alfred furrowed his brows and slowly set the flowers aside. He would not tell her what was to come; his reason for asking her, but he was obstinate in his decisions. "I know." Alfred spoke slowly so as not to antagonize her. Lately, she seemed to always be in such a foul, uncouth mood. "I. . .just wanted a little company." He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't frightened; it had been such a long time since he had last fallen beneath death. The previous time was extorbitantly unpleasant. . .

"You can be your own company. You don't need me." The words flew from her lips and lashed at him, stinging his resolve. He was beginning to crumble, grow brittle. Cracked.

Oh. . .if only she knew that it would be a hell of a lot easier for him to let go if she was there at his side. But what could he possibly do to convince her? He'd butted heads with this woman numerous times, and each instance had left him more jaded then the last. Eventually he had ceased trying entirely, but just this once. . .!

"It won't be the same this time." He sounded breathless as he spoke, strained. He was struggling inwardly to suppress the emotions tiltilating upon his vocals, lined heavily around his tone. "Please Natalia, just today. Just once. . ." It was a plea, almost a whine, and his voice cracked faintly.

"Nyet." Finality backed that response and forced Alfred to understand that he was on the losing end of this conversation. No matter what he did, what he said, she was intransigent of her own accord. Her attention returned to the screen and the only thing Alfred could do was sigh. Not of soreness, but of melancholy.

Gritting his teeth, he pushes that smile back onto his lips and gives a little nod. A few steps back and he straightens himself out almost proudly. "Alright. Well, I'm going for a walk, okay?"

No answer. His gaze dulled solemnly, but his smile remained in tact. He stole a last glance at the back of her head and reached over the couch to grab a white rose before departing from his home. He had lost after all - his dignity clawed at him like a feral animal. Raw. Undaunted. But he ignored it in favor of minding his surroundings. In his mind, he knew where he was to go. To the willow tree in the park where they once had lunch together. It was secluded and far from inhabitation. They had choosen a more reserved area for the sake of enjoying peace and tranquility. Now he would assemble there for the same reason. Peace of passing.

His footsteps scuffed the pavement as he walked like fluid, steady heartbeat. Pounding around him. The consternation tingling along his hyper-sensitive nerves of before had not vanished, but made him tremble when he stood immobile. And he was afraid his joints would lock and freeze, should he halt for even a moment. So he pushed forward, determined. His mind clotted with images of her face. A face so impressing it sketched permanently within his memory. Briefly, he glanced to the sky and spied the slowly anchoring sunset. Dying as evening progressed inevitably. Was it setting for him? No, that was a silly notion. He swatted the idea aside; as arrogant and self-centered as he was, the sun would not set solely for him. Be more realistic Alfred!

His concentration returned to the scenery before him, bleak and bland. It was autumn and most families were holed up in their homes, enjoying a well-cooked meal and perhaps some pumpkin pie. At one time he pictured himself and Natalia bustling about the kitchen, cooking together with smiles on their faces. Trepidating surged like a pulse in his chest and his heartbeat picked up. Would he wake up this time and be able to pursue this image to make it reality? His economy had drastically plunged, leaving him sick and wounded. At the rate it declined. . .he didn't even want to think of it.

Pallid features flushed with restraint on his emotions. The familiar image of the willow tree skipped into his sight and drew nearer and nearer with each footstep until he was mere centimeters before it. He paused. A scarred palm pressed against the coarse bark and fingers slowly coiled against his flesh. "If I don't wake. . .you'll watch over her, yeah? Promise me you will, Willow. You were kind to us the day the sun burned so hotly. You gave us shade and coolness. . .surely you can do that again, right?" He released a laugh, dejected. Forlorn. And scoffed at himself. "I must be an idiot, talking to a plant." He turned and dipped to his knees, laying his back against the trunk and spreading his legs out. Death was creeping closer, crawling like a hungry demon. His vision was smudging and he didn't bother to rub at his eyes.

". . .I love her. And maybe she'll understand someday that she isn't always alone. And perhaps. . .perhaps we can chase stars together." He fashioned the last fragments of dismal smile and sighed, letting azure irises curtain behind pale lids. Gradually, his grip around the flower in his left hand slackened and he descended into that abhorrent suspension.

#

It was much later into the evening before Natalia bothered to notice Alfred's absence and ventured to find him. She never imagined that when she stumbled upon the willow tree bowed over him as if it were truly weeping, she would realize he had departed from her. Whether it was for a little while, or forever, was indeterminable. But as her legs began to quiver with resignition and she bowed to her hands and knees, crawling to him and shaking him desperately; apologies tumbling like incoherent prayers from her lips, one thing was for sure. . .

it rained heavily that night.


End file.
